Memories in Time
by soojinah
Summary: It is said that as the world thaws out from winter, it also releases forgotten memories frozen in the winter of one's subconscious. A day in life of an elderly Yamato Ishida as he reflects on his past life, loves and losses. A realistic and depressing one shot.


**Memories in Time**

A/N: This is a one shot inspired by the many, many sad stories I've heard working in hospice and elderly care. It's a lot darker and sadder than the other story I'm working on, which I promise I will update next week. This story fits my mood, for some reason in my experience a lot of the elderly pass away in the spring time and the season holds a sort of melancholy beauty to me. If Yamato and the others seems a little AU, it is because I had both them and my patients in mind as I wrote this story so please be understanding. As always, reviews are always appreciated! :)

Disclaimer: I do not own Digimon.

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The sun streaming in through the window brightly colored the world a strange mix of reds, oranges and black behind the closed lids of Yamato Ishida's eyes. It was the sun's subtle way of announcing its presence to the once blonde, now gray gentleman situated on the lowered hospital bed, rails up and call bell within reach, of course.

He groaned and attempted to shift over onto his side, trying to avoid the morning and return once again to blissful oblivion where he was still young, where he was still surrounded by all those whom he'd loved and lost in the years gone past.

It was impossible. Time had taken everything from him, even, it appeared, his ability to turn over in bed.

Yamato had always imagined he'd go as his father had, living actively until suddenly passing away at the age of 76 to a massive stroke.

Instead, that blessing had been passed on to Takeru, his younger brother, who had been found unresponsive in his bed and rushed to the emergency room only to be declared dead by the ER doctor at the age of 74.

Takeru Takaishi was survived by his widow, Hikari Takaishi nee Yagami and their two children, 4 grandchildren and now his 1 great-grandchild that Yamato knew would have thrilled the once proud grandfather.

Of course, that was 20 years ago and now even his beloved wife had gone on to join him 8 years ago.

Yamato had been the _lucky_ one to inherit his mother's fate: whiling away the decades as his body wasted away from Parkinson's Disease, his sharp mind trapped within the confines of his physical ability.

The irony of it all. It was _maddening_.

Sighing, Yamato opened his eyes. They too had once been a brilliant blue but the effects of cataracts left them watery and dull, the lids around them droopy and creased.

The sun hit the back of his retina and Yamato regretted it immediately, wincing as the brightness seemed to burn a hole through the back of his head.

_Those damn aides never draw the shades tight enough._

He pressed the call bell and settled back onto his pillow. It would be a while before the aides showed up and he took the opportunity to draw a couple deep breaths to help ready himself for the torture that awaited.

The aides were surprisingly fast this morning and he swore silently when he heard them bustling into the room.

"Good morning, Mr. Ishida. Why don't we get you changed first before getting you in the shower?" One of the ladies cooed as she began to raise his bed sufficiently enough to begin the changing process.

Yamato nodded silently and waited. He had long given up on any feelings of pride and dignity once he had discovered he no longer had the ability to care for himself.

His shame followed quickly after his first diaper change. _Depends_, they called them.

_Diapers_, all the same.

As the aides turned him from side to side, his mind began to drift to when he first decided he'd go into a nursing home.

He'd fallen on his way to the bathroom and while he hadn't been hurt, he was not able to get back up, not able to even to get himself to a sitting position. For almost a whole day, he lay there trying to push the goddamn life alert button but the tremors in his hands…

When the emergency responders finally found him on the floor after his neighbors called the police, he was laying in a puddle of his own urine and excrement. Yamato felt his time had come and while he had not wanted to die like _that_, he felt ready. He _welcomed_ death, even.

Yamato remembered all too well the feelings of despair when he realized the loud commotion outside was in fact the police, getting ready to break open his door.

His children and his ex, Sora Takenouchi had all protested vehemently to the institutionalization. It alluded to the thought that perhaps _maybe_ his family was negligent and uncaring, preferring to dump him into a facility than have to bear the responsibility of round the clock care.

But he had been insistent.

He had been as independent as he possibly could all his life, and he'd be damned if he had to depend on his children and most of all, Sora, to help wipe his ass.

While he still cared for the woman, he couldn't bear to have her see him so helpless. Especially because the pity would show so plainly in her kind ruby eyes. Disappointment and hurt he could manage-he _had_ managed in the past-but pity?

_No_.

Sora was the bearer of the crest of love and she loved him. To the very end.

Even if he'd hurt her more than anyone could imagine.

Why? Why couldn't she just hate him, curse him to hell and abandon him like he deserved?

_It doesn't matter anymore._

"What doesn't matter?" Yamato blinked and turned to face the stunned aide, a kindly middle aged woman with red lips, a comb halfway raised to him.

_Goddamn it. _The problem with old age was that he no longer realized if he was thinking in his head or speaking aloud. The distinction had blurred when his hearing declined.

"Nothing. I'm...My hair is fine." He waved the aide away and she sighed before putting away the comb. She wore flower printed scrubs, it looked like daisies, and Yamato was again reminded of his ex. _Sora loved daisies. _

Sora.

Sora passed away two years ago after falling and fracturing her hip. She would have recovered from the fracture if not for the single blood clot that had managed to form and find its way to her lungs. He had watched their eldest spread her ashes across the water, the winter sky gray and dark above the Rainbow Bridge, the cold cutting through his coat and lap blanket.

He missed her, just the same.

The aides settled him into his wheelchair before carting him off cheerily to the dining room where one of them would spoon feed him the soft pureed garbage they managed to call food.

They passed the dementia residents' dining room and Yamato smiled as he made out his friend Dr. Jyou Kido sitting at one of the tables, refusing to be fed from a frustrated aide until she had been properly scrubbed. Although the doctor no longer recognized Yamato, or anyone else still alive for that matter, it was comforting to him to know someone from his past was also here with him.

Yamato waved a tired hand at Jyou, who stared blankly at him. Jyou no longer recognized the elderly silver haired man as his childhood friend and it was just as well. He'd become even more neurotic and anxious due to his dementia, a reverting to his childhood ways.

The sun was shining brilliantly here in the dining room as well and Yamato noticed that somewhere between the diaper changes and meals the snow had managed to melt away and leave behind soft pink blooms in their stead.

His gaze softened and Yamato felt tears brimming along his waterline. It was once said that as the world thaws out from winter, it also releases forgotten memories frozen in the winter of one's subconscious.

_That's probably why so many people kill themselves in the spring. Goddamn spring memories._

Springtime always haunted the blonde. _Always._

For the brief couple of days that the cherry blossoms were in bloom, Yamato would be trapped in thought, spending all his waking hours in the memories of time.

_She_ had been the very embodiment of spring. All soft colors, warmth, rebirth and happiness. Her glow had been infectious and somehow in some way, she'd managed to infect him with that same glow.

For years, it incubated within him until finally it manifested in the form of a passionate but secret affair.

And he was relieved. Relieved to be honest with himself for the first time since his mother left him and his father with Takeru.

It was the one time he had felt truly liberated. He had been _happy, _so sure of himself and of the future.

But _she _ended it before he even had a chance to react, withdrawing from him, cutting off all contact.

And in the end, he married Sora. They were _engaged._ And he'd been a coward.

Yamato remembered seeing her walk down the aisle arm in arm with his best friend Taichi, glowing in layers of pale pink tulle, the maid of honor and best man.

He remembered also her penetrating gaze as he mumbled through his vows. She had stared at him just like that once previously, when she told him she couldn't possibly love him as he wanted her to over chocolate cake and double shots of espresso. She had told him to stay with Sora, go through with the wedding and have a happy marriage with her red haired best friend.

Yamato still could not stomach the taste of chocolate. It had been over sixty years since that windy autumn afternoon where he had sat, stunned, alone in the cafe long after she'd taken her leave.

She and Taichi went on to be lovers after his and Sora's wedding. When she began to show a few months into their relationship, everyone assumed the child was Tai's.

But Yamato _knew_.

He knew the quiet, introverted child was his, even if the child bore no resemblance to Yamato.

_He looked nothing like Taichi either._

Come to think of it, Yamato wondered if Taichi himself knew. Though he never acted like he was privy to their secret, he _must_ have had some inkling. After all, pregnancies were 9 months long.

An ache gripped his insides as Yamato was brought back to that sunny day in March when he was born. She had opted to give birth at home and good ol' reliable Jyou had been there to deliver the child.

It was a strange feeling. At that point, Yamato and Sora had been married for 7 months and while he tried to love his newly wedded wife with his whole being, he just couldn't ignore the acrid taste of jealousy that seared the roof of his palate every time he saw his best friend with _her._

Sora had held his hand firmly when they were allowed in to see the new mother and child, the infant cradled against her and sucking vigorously at her breast while Taichi beamed at his new, small family.

His hands had trembled from the restraint. Oh, it took considerable restraint to stop himself from pinning Taichi against the wall and punching that proud smile off his face.

Much like how his hands trembled now. Only now, it was from Parkinson's Disease and only now he'd give up anything to have his best friend back.

A solitary tear rolled down Yamato's cheek, the wetness spreading along the fine lines of his face as he thought of Taichi.

They had been in their late forties. Life had gotten hectic and the intense feelings from his younger days had faded into fond distant memories. He was comfortable with where he was, satisfied with his marriage, and in love with his wife.

They had drifted apart from each other slowly throughout the years although once a year they made it a point to meet and catch up.

But the news hit them with all the force of a hurricane: Taichi Yagami and his wife was involved in a motor vehicle accident and he was pronounced dead on the scene. He was rumored to be a strong contender for Prime Minister the next term and the pragmatic brunette had been touring the country with his pretty wife in support. The loss was sudden, shocking and disorienting.

The digidestined were now leaderless and the loud, courageous man's absence left a gaping hollow that Yamato had not been able to fill since his passing.

His widow had been taken to an emergency room where she was treated for minor injuries.

Later, Jyou would recount to them how she had broken down and wept loudly when the policemen delivered the grim news, her cries echoing through the corridors. Unconsolable and frantic, the nurses, orderlies and the doctors had to restrain her and administer haloperidol and lorazepam via an intramuscular injection.

She fell into a silent stupor, refusing to eat or drink or have any company until, on the day of the funeral, she emerged dressed in a glittery champagne evening gown that showed off her figure, her make up and hair immaculately done.

Everyone had been shocked. Except for the slightly puffy eyes, she gave no indication of being in mourning. She had graciously thanked everyone for coming, for their support and words of sympathy.

And while she could fool just about everyone, Yamato could read her like a book. The pain was evident in her shiny hazel eyes, the grief just barely there in her lilting voice. An overwhelming need to hold her and whisper comforting words in her ears had flooded through him at the time.

When he finally got to speak to her alone, she'd denied needing any help or support. She wouldn't even let him hug her although he'd seen the briefest of breaks in her resolve flicker in her eyes.

A week later, he found her crying on the floor of the bedroom, clutching an old t shirt. He recognized the familiar blue shirt with the orange stars and had folded her into his arms.

They had stayed like that for hours, she cradled into the space between his arms, his chin nuzzling against her soft forehead until she finally stood up and thanked him. She then walked away from him for the second time, her long cinnamon curls flying about her.

The windows had been open, and the cherry blossoms had been in bloom. Gusts of wind had blown in swirls of small delicate petals into the room around them.

The petals flew about him now as Yamato sat in his wheelchair in the open courtyard. He shivered from the chill, although he wasn't sure if the chill was because of the weather or from just being old.

"There you are! What are you doing outside, Mr. Ishida? You never go outside!" The nurse had found him, goddamn it, and she stood there mixing his crushed medications in a small plastic cup with applesauce.

"Just enjoying the weather."

"Hmm. Yes, the trees are so beautiful this time of year. It makes me so happy!" She cooed as she beckoned him to open his mouth, and he frowned as he took the bitter concoction. He kept his silence as he realized long ago that the more taciturn one was with the staff, the faster they finished with their 'care'.

She shrugged and tucked his lap blanket around him and smiled before walking to her next victim.

A feeling of quiet unease had settled itself into the pit of Yamato's stomach as the flowers once again reminded him of memories long past.

Years would go by without any contact from _her_ at all, and he almost put her away in the deeper recesses of his mind when one day he received a phone call.

The number was from an unknown number and the caller hadn't responded to any of his questions but he somehow _knew_ that the silent person on the other line was _her _ and for close to an hour, they enjoyed each other's company in silence.

This would carry on sporadically for the next few weeks until one day in spring, she requested to see him at a small coffee shop a few towns away.

A mix of trepidation and happiness had fluttered in his heart as he made his way over to the requested location. He was elated to see her sitting on the outside patio and despite the passage of time, she had been beautiful.

The sun had shone brightly against her carefully curled cinnamon hair now showing streaks of grey. Her complexion remained clear of liver spots or sun damage and she had kept up with her youthful figure. It knocked the wind out of him, she was more awe-inspiring than the view of the galaxy from space.

He could never tire of her lilting voice, her twinkling eyes and all her little idiosyncrasies that endeared her to him. An old familiar feeling of desperation had welled up inside him at that time, nearing sixty years of age. Feelings that he'd successfully suppressed in the wild days of his teens and twenties.

It had been just one afternoon. But in the few hours spent basking in the warmth of the late afternoon sun, he'd come to realize a horrible truth. He was still in love, always will be in love, with the charming and elegant woman now sipping her soy caramel macchiato with sugar free syrup.

And he realized that it was unfair to both himself and to Sora.

Quite naturally, his marriage fell apart. The children blamed it on a mid-life crisis, Takeru claimed it was because of their childhood and Sora didn't say anything at all, silently signing the papers before kissing him goodbye.

Once the divorce had been finalized, he requested to see her. It was summer time by then, and they had sat quietly in each others' company as the shaved ice melted into a sugary soup between them.

She had recoiled at the news, claimed that she never meant for him to leave Sora and demanded to know on what grounds did he file for divorce.

He said he loved her.

She said she knew.

She had also said things were now too complicated and too many people would get hurt.

_What would you have me do? _ He had asked.

_Please think of your children. And mine. Our families. _She had whispered.

_Goddamn it, Mimi, I just want to do something for myself for once. Don't you want to give us a chance? It's been 50 years!_

_It wouldn't have worked anyways. _

_You don't know that, you-  
_

_Please, Yama. I loved you too._

_He had been stunned into silence. Teary eyed but composed, the cinnamon haired beauty had reached out and cupped his face gently with one hand before kissing him softly. _

A firm hand grasped Yamato's shoulder, breaking him out of his reverie.

"It's good to see you outside, Ishida." Yamato blinked away his tears and smiled as he turned to face an old friend.

"Likewise, Izumi." The white haired gentleman smiled as he shook his head. Koushiro was hunched over the walker that carried his oxygen tanks and while the man suffered from emphysema, he was pretty healthy considering he too was approaching centenarian status.

Koushiro sighed as he maneuvered himself into a lawn seat next to Yamato and they sat under the cherry blossoms in silence for a few moments, enjoying the feeling of the sun on their faces.

"You know, for some reason, springtime always depresses me." Koushiro broke the silence and Yamato looked over at his friend in surprise.

"Why?"

"Well. It's hard to say but somehow I find it more...difficult, I suppose, than winter. Something about everything coming back to life. I feel like I should be more active but at this age…"

"Hey, at least you're still walking. I'm stuck." Yamao grinned, grateful to have his old friend visiting. Koushiro smiled again and shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Yamato. I did not mean to be insensitive."

"No need to apologize Koushiro. Thanks for coming by."

"Well. I was just wondering. I'm on my way to visit the campsite, you know, maybe visit Taichi. Would you like to come with?" Yamato blanched. Upon his sudden death, the world had designated the original summer camp a national park in remembrance of their leader and his ashes had been scattered there.

He had not gone there in years.

Yamato felt his throat tighten. Koushiro was now fiddling with the oxygen tubing, waiting for the same answer he'd gotten over the last few years.

Clearing his throat, Yamato lifted his eyes with great effort and met Koushiro's dark round ones. "I think I'll pass. Next time, maybe. Thanks for asking."

Koushiro sighed and nodded once before pushing himself off the chair. "Yamato. You need to let her go now."

Yamato nodded slowly as the two shook hands and with one more firm grasp to his shoulder, Koushiro began to make his way down the pathway.

_You need to let her go now._ Koushiro's words echoed around in Yamato's head and he shut his eyes tightly, willing them to go away.

Yamato remembered the day she told him she was moving back to America. The cherry blossoms had mostly fallen but for a few flowers and the streets had been covered in a thick carpet of light pink to brown petals.

_How will I contact you?_

_Well...you have my email, I will let you know my new number once I get there._

_I can't let you go again._

_You don't have me now to let me go, silly._

And just like that, she was gone. He must have sent her a thousand emails. Each one left unanswered. It drove him crazy that she could just disappear like that.

Life went on without her. And he threw himself back into his work again, this time on tachyon research.

His family worried for him. He was a workaholic. He drank. He was generally unhappy and unsatisfied.

A year went past and by chance he ran into her son. _His_ son as well, although she had never admitted it to him before.

_How's your mother, _he had asked. The young man had shuffled uncomfortably for a few moments before replying that she was not doing very well.

The cancer had stopped responding to chemo and the doctors were recommending hospice care.

His knees had literally buckled and he ended up fracturing his knee caps, requiring bilateral knee replacements.

By the time he had recovered enough to go see her, she had been in a coma for over a week.

She passed away quietly with him by her side.

She had requested to be cremated and spread at the campsite, as she had done for her husband two decades earlier.

It had been springtime then, too. The cherry blossoms were in bloom and the day had been cruelly beautiful.

Yamato had watched from a distance as her sons solemnly spread her about them. It had been her last wish, to be with her dearly beloved Taichi once again.

He hid behind a mask of feigned indifference.

In truth, he was dying inside, an intolerable gnawing pain rapidly that radiated from the confines of his chest to the tips of his fingers.

Yamato wandered off until he came to an isolated clearing, far removed from the others.

It was there that he sank to the ground in tears, sobs wracking his body until he had no more energy left. He heard the others calling for him but he ignored them until Koushiro had found him.

_Please, I need to be alone, _he had requested to the solemn man, his black tie flapping in the wind. Koushiro had said nothing but there was a sort of agreement between the two and he had left with a small nod.

Yamato remembered hearing him reassuring Jyou and Sora who had caught up to the more lithe Koushiro that Yamato was fine but needed time alone to grieve.

The three had taken their leave along with the rest of the children and grandchildren and he was finally alone.

He had sat quietly by himself in the park until sunrise, remembering both his lost friend and well, _her._

His limbs had stiffened during the night and his stomach growled in protest. He was feeling weak from cold, hunger and dehydration.

But he couldn't bear leaving her again in the silence of the campsite.

He had briefly contemplated joining them but finally made his way back home when he realized he was too much of a coward to actually go through with anything.

Since then, the others would still try to go every now and then to visit their friends. God knows how many times Koushiro, Jyou, Sora, Takeru, Hikari and the others invited him to join.

He never went back.

It had been more than thirty years.

If anything, time had intensified the pain and longing. Whoever had said time heals all wounds had been a goddamn liar.

He couldn't even bear to look at the stars anymore as they too were ghosts of stars long gone, their light only reaching them now, faint and distant.

Memories were all he had left and even then, he wondered if he would have preferred dementia instead. At least then, like Jyou, every moment would have been fleeting and he would perpetually live in the past, each year dissolving into the disease until finally nothing was left.

Yamato couldn't even say her name, not even to himself, without feeling like he'd swallowed a bitter poison, the pain rising up from his viscera over his head until he couldn't hold back the tears any longer.

A gust of wind blew past Yamato and he shivered. A few of the delicate pink flowers had landed on his lap and he reached for them with trembling fingers.

He wondered when she became such an important part of him and smiled past the tears blurring his already impaired vision as he managed to pinpoint the exact moment.

_Yamato had been walking home after band practice shortly after the new year had resumed, humming a melody they had just practiced. _

_He was just getting over his teenage angst as he was now turning seventeen and honestly life was going pretty well for the blonde. His band was starting to get offers to play at larger venues, he was starting to bridge a relationship with his estranged mother, he had an amazing girlfriend._

_The weather matched his mood. After a particularly harsh winter, spring was a welcome change in season and while he never really cared much for flowers and blossoms and whatever, he had to admit it was beautiful._

_It was so beautiful, in fact, that he decided to walk through the park. _

_A soft singing caught his attention and he slowed his pace to see a familiar brunette lounging against a tree. It was an old friend, Mimi, back from America. He was going to leave without saying hi, after all, they weren't exactly close and they hadn't kept in touch._

_But there was something about her. Different somehow. _

_She had let the pink grow out and her long sunlit cinnamon hair blew softly around her face. Her face too had grown out of her childish cheeks to expose a delicate bone structure and a proud high nose. _

_When she finally noticed him with her large doe-like hazel eyes, he'd been paralyzed and slack-jawed. A jittery weak feeling had taken over his knees and he had a flutter in his chest and it was unfamiliar and exciting._

"_Surprise, I'm back", she'd said softly, standing up and dusting the leaves off her flowy white dress._

_He mustered a smile and managed to raise one hand in greeting. She leaned in for a quick air kiss and pulled back just as quickly. In the few seconds in which she near, he caught a whiff of her fruity floral scent, the velvety softness of her cheek against his and the soft rush of her breath._

_Yamato was shocked. _

_Girls just didn't greet people like that in Japan. But he found he rather liked it. _

"_Mimi?" Her nose had crinkled as she laughed and the sound was magical and tinkling. _

"_No, Sora. Of course it's me, Mimi!" And that was that. He was enchanted. _

_Enchanted._

* * *

Hope you enjoyed it!

I'm contemplating a longer fic based on their lives-after my proof readers read through it, they said Mimi was cold hearted and cruel (I appreciate your input! I do, truly!) and I wanted to explain her side of the story a little more, also Sora and Taichi and Koushiro and Jyou-I feel they would have made wonderful adults to write about.

It's something I'm thinking of, let me know what you think!

Thanks for reading! :)


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